Her Choice
by Penbee of Treewood
Summary: NO PAIRINGS. Second person POV Zuko. When it comes to the water Pakku gave her in The Avatar State, Katara is forced to chose between her brother and the Avatar.


**Title:** Her Choice

**Author:** Penbee of Treewood

**Rating:** PG (for death)

**Pairing: **None

**Summary:** Katara is forced to chose between _him _and the Avatar.

**Notes:** _Second person POV (**Zuko**)_. A quick something done because I couldn't sleep until it was done. Ficlet. Short. Experimental (key there is "mental").

* * *

_Listen to me, Katara, save Aang.  
No…No, I—  
Katara, you have to.  
I—I don't know…that I can._

Nursing your bloody, nearly numb left arm, you lean heavily against the wall, breathing slowly, heart racing with fear and excitement. What has happened seems a blur of death, more death, fire and water and metal striking metal in the cold clamor of death knells. The sound continues to ring in your ears… The air still crackles with electricity and in the center of the lifeless chaos sits a young girl in dingy blue robes.

The glass vial in her hand catches her reflection, distorting it in the swirling liquid within. Firelight flickers in the torches lining the walls of the ante-chamber (we didn't even make it to the throne room, you realize with despair), illuminating the bodies in an eerie crimson glow.

For just a moment, her blue eyes meet yours and her shadowed face looks almost crazed with a panicked indecision. Her hands shake, and she drops the small vessel. It swings downward and rests just between her breasts, held only by a thin chord around her neck. The weight of what it means seems to be strangling her.

What does one say to a little girl forced to play the role of a god?

Her head turns away and she closes her eyes.

No one would envy her for the choice she must make—and will have to make in the next few minutes if any is to be made. Faltering now loses both ways. Choosing, of course, only saves one. She has to be the one to chose. You can't do it for her. Maybe you wish you could.

The Avatar…a boy, the messiah who could heal the wound of a hundred years of war.

The Other…a young man, of no great consequence, barely anything to his name, one that without whom the world would still go on turning.

But not _her_ world.

You've never heard them speak that way to each other as they did just before now... _I love you. Take care. I'm really sorry. No, I am. Goodbye. Don't leave me._ Desperation. It made you uncomfortable when he was awake and thinking back on it continues to send anxious patters to your heart. You've never loved like that. Never unconditionally. Never without need to give or receive praise. You've always needed some sort of _approval_. They just love. No restraints. They jest; they wound each other. The scars heal. They try to stay mad; the scars bandage themselves. You've only known the wounds. They've never not known what its like to not have theirs heal.

She's now faced with the threat of losing him. It's him or the Avatar; it's him or the _world_— if she saves him the fighting goes on without hope of end and she spends her life with the guilty scars of selfish decisions, that she condemns to death hundreds of thousands of innocents, but if she heals the Avatar she breathes a new life into the world at the loss of what is dearest to her. It is only now that see clearly sees that the decision has always been about him or the Avatar.

She told you once, more than once, how easily it was that she chose the Avatar over everything else. Over him.

You could just tell that he felt it was one of the best choices she ever made, even if he still bore the scars of that wound to his heart.

Again, it was her choice. Him or the Avatar.

She raises her head and opens her eyes to stare at you and you see the glistening tracks of tears down her cheeks.

You pity her. For once in your life you pity a meager peasant girl.

"I'm sorry." She barely breathes as she lifts the necklace and vial from her neck like it is the weight of the world on her slim shoulders.

"I know," you say, surprised at your own emotions and the hoarseness of your voice. With a strangled sob, she wipes away her tears and almost lovingly uncorks the bottle. The water rises from the thin glass and hovers in the air. She looks up from her patient and mouths, "I'm sorry" one last time.

As you watch the tears of joy and sorrow mingle on her face as the water takes its effect, you know any happiness she feels is only temporary. Your own eyes sting with unshed tears. You know that this is the end.

She kisses her brother's forehead just as his eyes flutter open. Blue and blue meet. _I'm sorry. I know._ seems to be their exchange. He forgives her wordlessly, just like always. At least they will die together.


End file.
